


As I walk through the valley...

by Arithanas



Category: Leverage
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Brotherhood, COVID-19 fic, Gen, Mean Girls References, September 11 Attacks, Sick Fic, War casualties, battle buddies, off screen deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23583604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: Eliot Spencer went down with the virus and he got it harder than he expected. This is the tale of the two brothers of Eliot Spencer and how they had kept him alive.
Relationships: Alec Hardison & Eliot Spencer, Shelley (Leverage) & Eliot Spencer
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	As I walk through the valley...

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Zen praxis in times of the Outbreak](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23458096) by [Arithanas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas). 



> _Even though I walk through the darkest valley,_  
>  _I will fear no evil, for you are with me_  
>  Psalm 23:4

Boredom, not the sickness, was the burden to bear. The screen spat all the images of work he could do, but he was not allowed to. Theo kept offering rides to visit their sectors, Parker insisted on playing cards, Hardison kept pushing that silly Netflix show on him. They meant well, but Eliot quickly got fed up with that. He didn’t want to watch life going on, he wanted to live it!

Remote control in hand, Eliot sat at the edge of the bed and turned off the TV. The breath inside his lungs felt like molasses and his monkey brain started to misbehave again. His phone was connected to the outlet and the battery must be only half-charged, but Eliot didn’t need much. He got up from the bed and moved to the door. 

Parker and Hardison agreed that he could open the door, but he shouldn’t step out unless it was an emergency. Eliot agreed because he really didn’t want to spread the virus, he just needed a reminder that he was doing this of his own will. As usual, he went down to his knees, his back straight, his head pushing the sky… Before he committed to _sanzen_ , Eliot dialed a long number and waited for the connection to start.

“Sorry that I missed you,” Shelley’s recorded message came to him from whatever patch of the desert he had let his rucksack fall. Eliot sighed in his disappointment because he desperately wanted news from his battle buddy. “Leave a message, and God bless.”

“Prom Queen, report yourself at your convenience,” Eliot said as soon as the tone let him know he could leave a message.

The vacant line replied and Eliot turned off his phone. He took a deep breath and rested his left hand inside his right hand. With his eyes fixed on the rail of the catwalk and his thumbs almost touching, Eliot felt his breath leave his lungs through his still congested nose. 

This stupid cold was giving his monkey brain all the excuses.

Eliot let his mind go of that thought. The more he let the thought stay the more it wanted to stay and that was not the intention. _Sanzen_ was supposed to cut his ego from worries, but his mind kept wandering to Shelley, to the crisis...

* * *

Shelley was walking behind him, with a tray for his lunch. They had just finished the physical and CAT-ASVAB parts of their induction at Oklahoma City MEPS. Eliot remembered his bad mood and the vague feeling of being touched against his will. His mind was still carrying the shouts and the anger his father hurled at him a week ago and this boisterous, big corn-fed kid from Nebraska was rubbing him the wrong way. Eliot’s mind wondered why he hadn’t stayed in Omaha to make noise there.

“So, Kentucky?” The big dummy asked, poking Eliot with his tray.

“I prefer Eliot.” The answer left his mouth in a slow growl. 

When Eliot was in elementary school, he cursed the fact his parents didn’t give him a middle name because, for a while, every kid in school pointed at him, repeating his name in a slow, creepy tone. No one explained to him why they did that and it was the most frustrating thing. Now, he would rather be called that than Spencer.

“I’m Shelley.”

“Good for you.”

“Why didn’t you stay in Louisville, Eliot?” Shelley asked, but kept talking without waiting for an answer. “I know why I didn’t stay in Omaha! My mum didn’t want to let her baby go. She didn’t have to worry about the older four because none of my sisters was military inclined. Anyway, I got my diploma, gathered my stuff, and moved away to be a soldier like my dad was. We lost him in the Gulf of Sidra.”

Eliot grumbled something inarticulate, wondering what he had done to be singled out by this particular nuisance and what the hell he expected Eliot to reply to his story. Part of him envied Shelley for his dead father for the briefest moment. Eliot put his tray on the counter, hoping that could be enough to cut his blabbering.

“You either worked the farm or were a varsity player,” Shelley continued among the clattering of trays. He gave Eliot a playful tap on the biceps with the back of his hand. “I can tell.” 

“I was a quarterback.” Eliot did his best to be as terse as possible.

“Sweet!” Shelley exclaimed at the top of his lungs just as the cafeteria got quieter than a morgue. “I was a cheerleader!”

Eliot looked around, feeling like he did in elementary school, singled out and on the spot without knowing why. Little did he know Fate had just handed him a brother from another mother in the most shame-inducing way possible.

* * *

Parker had visited him two hours ago to take his temperature and have a little chat from the ventilation shaft. She looked worried by the reading, but Eliot popped another pill to fight the fever, put some news, and asked for some snacks he had no intention to eat. That made her smile and he smiled back. Sometimes, Parker needed something to do instead of waiting; they were people made for action.

Sleep had won the battle for a while, but Eliot woke up tossing and turning on that big bed, feeling wet and uncomfortable. The bedsheets smelled like his ACU fatigues after a run in the sand, saddled with his whole gear on his back. The cough was getting worse and he had cramps, really bad, in his legs. With effort, he sat on the bed and coughed a bit more. It felt like spitting razor blades. At least his nose was not running anymore.

In the nightstand, next to the OTC medicines, sat a bright yellow box with that cute kid with the straw hat and the dimples. Parker had found his snacks, and those were brand-name even. Shelley’s mom always included a couple of packs like that in her care packages for his son marked for Eliot. Eliot tried to smile at the memory, but that damned cough kicked his ribs from the inside. 

Breath got stuck inside and Eliot gasped in desperation. Blindly, Eliot searched for the cough suppressant pills and he struggled to swallow them among the excruciating convulsions of his chest. Exhausted, he rested his weight against the pillows and waited for the medicine to work.

Later, much more later, Eliot got up, feeling weak. He dragged his hot carcass to the bathroom to take a leak and a cold shower. He shivered under the running water for what it felt like an eternity, but at the end of it, his head was clearer and he felt somewhat better. Only that bothersome, dry, painful cough tormented him at the moment.

Eliot waddled to the bed, took another pill for the fever, and found a dry spot on the bed. Newscasters were talking about the pandemic with the same flat, unpassionate tone they reported the number of his brothers and sisters dead some months ago. Eliot wondered why he had chosen this rotten network, but he felt too wretched to look for the remote and change the channel.

“....total number of deaths in the country to nearly 13,000...” The clean-cut news anchor said before he went and minimized the number as if that weren’t the amount of six 9/11s.

His phone was on the bed, Eliot tapped the screen to make it go on. No voicemail. Shelley had never let a day pass without answering his calls before.

Six 9/11s...

Where are you, Shelley?

* * *

Shelley was showing off on the bars again. He was perfectly capable of doing chin-ups like the rest of them but he liked to play the acrobat on them. Eliot opened one of the sandwiches he stole from DFAC and munched slowly. They had something to talk about because that E-7 they worked with during their last Afghan tour insisted on his offer.

“Shelley,” Eliot called out when his battle buddy cleared the bar with his hips. “What do you think of what that Vance guy told us?”

“The one who wanted the ‘prom royalty’ in his unit?” Shelley asked and held his handstand. “We need Ranger School and you know we are not included in that particular list.”

Eliot shrugged and Shelley dismounted the bar. Eliot smiled at his friend’s skill and offered him one of the flavorless sandwiches.

“It’s a better paycheck,” Eliot mumbled and extended his legs. “I’m still trying to save some money for college.”

“You’d do better to get used to the idea of being a lifer like me,” Shelley commented and chewed down his food. Eliot could tell he liked the sandwich. “Just think of all the mischief and smoking we could get!”

“First of all, you are a bad influence. Second, that’s hardly my fault: you keep getting me in hot water!” Eliot grumbled and put down his food. “Third, I don’t want to stay stuck at E-3 my whole life, like someone I know, eh?” Shelley grinned and took a second bite. “Fourth…”

Eliot stopped talking because Shelley stopped munching. He had seen that look in his battle buddy eyes before, usually before an ambush. Eliot felt it before he could hear it: half of the base in this Saudi camp mobilized at the same time. Shelley and Eliot got up and noticed they were all running to the Exchange. They didn’t even exchange a look, they ran to where the rest of the base was going; Eliot felt his heart beating in his throat. There was a wall of people in front of the electronics; they fought their way with fist and elbow but they soon reached the front line. Every soldier had their eyes fixed on the screens where the World Trade Center let out a dark plume of smoke. An attack on American soil… Eliot felt Shelley’s hand inside his and he gripped it, fighting with his heart stuck inside his throat.

“We need to get into Ranger School…” Eliot mumbled when the building suddenly collapsed.

Shelley said nothing, he just closed his hand harder.

* * *

Five minutes, that was all Eliot was asking for.

Five minutes free of chills and cramps and cough. 

Five minutes to rest and keep fighting.

Feeling weak, Eliot turned on his side, coughing. The new position didn’t bring any relief. Spasms were as dry and unproductive as before and drawing breath in hurt. Eliot felt the dryness all the way down to his lungs; it was not a surprise his insides were so dry; his clothes were soaked in his sweat. His eyes fell on the nightstand. Eliot extended his hand and took his phone. No voicemail, no messages. 

Shelley… 

With an effort, he finally sat down and tried to take a sip of that sports drink (sugar, electrolytes, water) Hardison or Parker left by his side. The liquid touched his mouth, but he couldn’t swallow before the cough made him splatter everything across the sheets. A second try was as fruitless as the first. His monkey brain hinted he had a seat reserved on that big stadium full of this damned plague’s victims and the thought shook Eliot almost to the brink of tears.

Stupid monkey brain…

A third attempt was more successful and liquid burned his way down through his parched throat just before the worst coughing fit he had felt so far dissuaded him from making another. The pain raked him from the inside and scared him blind; the first thing he did after taking a breath of fresh air was to look for an earbud. 

He needed help, he knew he couldn’t survive alone. Eliot had lost his battle buddy… Hardison, he needed Hardison. If he called for Parker, Parker would come in and she would catch it. Hardison would call a doctor and would keep his distance and would be safe. With a shaking hand, he fought the cough and his poor coordination.

“Hardison,” Eliot called when the earbud sat inside his ear. “Are you awake?”

“Eliot,” Hardison replied almost immediately. He sounded wide awake. “Do you need something, bro?”

“Is… is Parker awake?”

“No, she’s done for the night,” Hardison mumbled inside his ear. Eliot wondered if the device let him hear his dry cough and if that was scaring him. “Eliot…. Eliot!”

“Don’t overreact,” Eliot tried to articulate clearly but he was too tired. “...hurts to breathe. I need a doctor…”

Just five minutes to rest. I can take it. I’m a tough guy, I’ll fight. Five minutes...

Give me five minutes to rest, and I’ll fight a bit more...

* * *

Eliot Spencer had had enough of all that stuff. Once this stupid vaccine hell cleared out he was going straight to Vance and tell him where he could shove it. He signed up to be a soldier, not a fucking guinea pig!

“If you look at the bright side,” Shelley said as he helped Eliot up. “At least this time you made it to the bathroom.”

Eliot grunted, wiped his mouth, and staggered toward the washbowl to wash out the bile from it. Shelley, helpful as ever, poured a glass of water over Eliot’s head. The coolness ran through the short bristles of his head and Eliot sighed.

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Eliot mumbled and wiped the water from his forehead.

“Good, because I _really_ need to hurl…”

Eliot nodded to the mirror for a second before Shelley’s distressed noises made him realize his battle buddy needed his support. Eliot went down to his knees again and made all the proper soothing movements and muttered Shelley’s reassuring words back to him. Shelley panted and laughed and Eliot followed him because this has been, by far, the most absurd situation they had been in their score of years roaming God’s green Earth.

They cleaned again and arm in arm, they leaned on each other and shuffled to the ward. Shelley was chatting about the last letters from home he got, about her sisters and about his mom. Stella was about to graduate (would her baby be home by then?); Sophie got a grant and was moving to Germany in the winter (would her baby be home to hug his sister?); Sam was struggling with that God-forsaken engineering program (would her baby be home to cheer her up?); Sadie had no spark to choose her major (would her baby be home to help his sister focus?)... Eliot had long got over his jealousy. Shelley’s family was almost his family now—he had spent many nights on their table and had caught Shelley’s sisters when they wanted to practice their cheers more times than he cared to recollect—and, despite Shelley’s mother's insistence to yank him from the Army, it was good to have news from them. 

Shelley was too busy complaining about how, despite all his war tours, his mother was still trying to wrap a metaphorical diaper around his butt. Shelley was distracted, Eliot wasn’t; he couldn’t afford it when his battle buddy’s life was on his hands. Hospitals had always been noisy places, even this little place on the outskirts of a little city. Nurses running and alarms sounding were normal noises, that thumping, rhythmical sound was not.

The first open door came to them and Eliot didn’t stop to get Shelley’s agreement: he pushed his battle buddy in and forced him to hide behind the door. Shelley tried to protest, but Eliot pressed his body against his and pressed his hand against Shelley’s mouth.

“I’m watching your six!” Eliot grumbled and looked over his shoulder.

An old man was agonizing alone in that room. Two beds were empty. Eliot fought the urge to slam the door closed, but the steps were getting closer. Any sound could betray their position and they were literally standing bare-assed with a door that could be better used for kindle as only protection. Shelley hadn’t noticed yet, but Eliot felt sick again and this time he was too far away from any relief.

Shelley tried to speak again when the steps grew closer. Eliot pressed him against the wall because he was feeling the same impulse: to run to that little room where the rest of their squadron was resting; to alert their brothers in arms about the danger. Eliot knew his strength, and he was in no condition to help; he would only make himself a target or, even worse, paint a target on Shelley’s back.

The thud of those marching steps shook the wall. Shelley trembled against his hand, against his chest. Their hearts raced together as they did so many times. Shelley’s haunted eyes pierced Eliot’s skull. Shame racked Eliot but he hardened his heart. The rest of their squadron had their own battle buddies, but this big baby, this momma’s boy was his. His life was Eliot’s responsibility and if he couldn’t fight for it, he was going to keep it safe.

Because Shelley had someone who would cry for him…

The door banged against Eliot’s back. The scout didn’t enter the room when he noticed the old man on the bed. The old man made no sound and respect for the dying had kept them safe; fear had reduced Eliot to silence. 

Because Shelley had kept him alive for years now...

Shouts and insults pierced the walls: Eliot would never forget the sound of a still-living body being dragged out of a bed among shouted curses.

Because Shelley promised to watch his six from Fort Sill to Arlington….

Shelley’s tears rolled over Eliot’s hand. Injuries were drowned under the AK-47’s crack. Eliot wished he could block that sound, but his brain was a sponge.

Because Eliot’s heart would shatter if he ever had to deliver Shelley’s ribbons and medals to his mom... 

Thumping boots and then silence. The overbearing silence that always smelled of cordite and ozone. Only then, Eliot Spencer slacked his hold and his face cracked so fast that he had to cover his eyes with a shaking hand, feeling the need to cry like a toddler.

Shame was a claymore strapped to Eliot’s chest, ready to tear him asunder. He had let his brothers be slaughtered like dogs… 

Shelley held him by the shoulders, roughly. Eliot could feel his fingers gripping his flesh but he had lost the vim to fight. His eyes crossed with Shelley’s and the hurt into the anger hacked Eliot’s soul. The strike was coming, Eliot shirked expecting that headbutt or that punch or, at the very least, that gob of spit he had so rightfully earned.

“No hospital is safe,” Shelley mumbled and, like a man blind and stunned from a mine, hugged Eliot against his chest. “No hospital is safe for men like us.”

The same harsh sob tore from their chest and they both cried the lament of two orphan boys. Eliot felt each of Shelley’s sobs against his neck, utterly convinced that he had caused his best pal untold pain.

By the time their tears ran out, Eliot will forever remember that detail, the old man who had saved their lives was gone.

* * *

He was running, he was running for his life. His lungs were burning and his heartbeat filled the whole world. He had lost Shelley, he had lost his battle buddy, and the drill sergeant would smoke him into the oblivion. 

He had lost his gear and his gun. He was running and bullets were raining around him. They were too loud. He was scared and bullets were screaming as they passed by his head.

They got him in the back. The promised Kevlar turned up to be cardboard and the shower of bullets pierced him in the back. He cried out.

“Is it too cold, bro?” somebody with a C-BRN suit asked, and pulled Eliot closer to adjust the water’s temperature. The plastic crackling almost sounded like fire from a homemade submachine gun. “Sorry, Eliot, I’m sorry.” 

Eliot tried to focus his eyes. Someone who treated him like a brother was holding him upright. Eliot’s knees felt like buckling; the water falling down his back felt like a spray of fuel. Shelley? Hardison? made some soothing sounds and ran his fingers through Eliot’s hair to speed the dampening. All those cares didn’t matter: the water was too cold and it hurt and Eliot was too tired to even complain.

“You’re burning up. We need to break your fever…”

Eliot was too tired to talk, too tired to make sense of his brother’s babble. He rested his head on that protected shoulder, gritted his teeth, and shuddered under the shower. 

* * *

His hand held Eliot’s. His fingers were warm and strong. Eliot looked around to the sea of uniforms around them. Jump School had proved to be the only thing Shelley couldn’t master with ease. Eliot shrugged, a bit uneasy, but Shelley was his battle buddy and if you can’t be utterly frightened in front of yours, what’s the use to have one?

“I’m scared,” Shelley admitted as the plane finally got the proper altitude. 

Eliot was not too happy either, by now he was used to the idea of dropping headfirst from a plane, but the idea of landing on freezing waters was not appealing. They had a promised spot on one of the most elite squadrons available for them and they needed to get airborne; failing Jump School was not an option. 

“If you don’t jump, I won’t,” Eliot mumbled because the thought of failing Shelley when he needed his battle buddy scared him more than falling to certain death. “Don’t make me look like an idiot in front of the Fort Benning crew!”

Eliot squared his jaw and let the pressure of the bodies around them guided to the opening. As they walked, Shelley found his resolve and gripped Eliot’s hand. The cold wind whipped their faces and the empty space’s pull was as mighty as ever. The daunting jump made a void in the pit of his stomach.

“Go, go!” the instructor repeated and he had the gall to sound almost bored.

Shelley looked at him with big haunted eyes and jumped into that gray abyss without any warning. Eliot just stood there, watching the gray nothingness for a second, feeling his hand empty, sure that he had lost his battle buddy forever.

“Go, go!” the instructor repeated without a hurry and without a care in this world.

* * *

It came and went in waves. There were moments when Eliot felt tired, but standing on this side of life; there were others when he was sure he died and this was hell. Pain, fever, fatigue, cough, all moved in waves.

There were moments when something hurt in his arm and he wanted to touch the hurt because, even if it was a bullet wound, he needed to check. A gentle hand stopped him every time and held his hand. That friendly hand was cold, it was covered in thin plastic, it was nice.

“Don’t… The doctor said you need the drip for a bit longer,” Someone always explained to him with a gentle voice and held Eliot’s hand. “You lost a lot of liquids, but you are going to make it.”

In his most lucid moments, Eliot could read the P100 printed in cheerful hot pink over the mask; most of the time he just laid there, feeling that gentle hand holding his, letting that gentle voice lull him into believing he had been taken care of. That he was safe...

Eliot would feel safe as long as that gentle hand held his.

* * *

A campaign hospital lost in some remote island of the Java Sea was the place where God had decided to finally let him die. A tropical paradise had the ironic touch God usually reserved to particularly wicked, sinful souls like his.

The Unit had returned with some wounded soldiers, among them Eliot Spencer. The wound was promptly patched in the way to the base, but, as luck would have it, four operators came down with a particularly aggressive case of _P. knowlesi_ that the Army treated with an even more aggressive mix of drugs delivered via the fastest route. 

The only bit of luck for Eliot was that his old BMT DS had assigned him the best mama hen that the Army could provide. Shelley, always a sunny ball of joy, was spared from the bites and from the bullets and Eliot Spencer hated his fortunate ass, but the chills were too intense to allow him to curse Shelley the proper way.

“Come on, Eliot,” Shelley insisted and tried again to push the pewter spoon loaded with rice porridge against Eliot’s chattering teeth. “You need to eat. You can’t leave me like this.”

His battle buddy was the best. Even shivering with fever and feeling all the drugs hitting him like a wrecking ball, Eliot knew that. His sheets were dry, and there was always a woobie near to soothe the fever spikes, and water was always cool and comforting. Shelley refused to let him die in that remote post...

“Come on, bro,” Hardison insisted, pushing a spoon full of chicken broth into Eliot’s mouth. “We fought the fever, and we fought the dehydration. Now we have to eat to get better.” Worry poured from behind the mask. “Swallow another, bro. Please…”

Eliot felt his head loll against the pillow. The pillowcase reeked of disinfectant so much it almost masked the smell of stale sweat of the pillow. Hardison leaned forward to clean the smear of food from the corner of Eliot’s mouth. Eliot felt his eyes were closing, his body felt weary and spent.

“Please, bro,” Hardison insisted, turning Eliot’s head again. “Please eat. I’m too scared, bro, and... I need you to be strong again. Please fight for me, for Parker. Please, just another spoonful.”

The spoon touched his lip and Eliot Spencer, with his eyes fixed in his brother’s, opened his mouth a bit. Someone had sent him brothers to watch his back and Eliot knew he could be impatient, rude, and obstinate, but he drew the line at being an ungrateful SOB. 

* * *

Eliot jumped out of the carrier plane. He jumped because he was instructed to. They were HALOing down on the border between Panama and Colombia right into the heart of the most hostile jungle in Central America. Dark missions, black operations, months and months of drills and practice were about to put in play against a curtain of thorns, snakes, and jaguars with just twenty-one hours to cross a four-day trip. Eliot and Shelley had been excited to meet the challenge. Vance had assigned them two of the youngsters of the new troop as support, just to add a degree of difficulty to the whole process.

Shelley had let the boys jump first and then Eliot closed the march, that way they could spot any trouble, in theory. The theory was faced by a night as dark as the bottom of a coal mine and as cold as Dante’s hell. Eliot could feel the cold wind piercing all the layers of his gear. Something passed shooting by Eliot’s at full speed. Eliot pushed the high beam lantern strapped to his shoulder for a second and night became a frightful day.

Someone was falling down like a ragdoll. There was no way to know who the team member was, but none seem to have spotted the falling operator. Eliot tucked his elbows in and dove into the night like a falcon ready to strike.

Earth pulled him hard, Eliot refused to fight the frightening attraction. He passed by the young members and his blood ran cold inside his chest. Cursing, Eliot did his best to speed up his fall, even after he passed the safe threshold to open his chute.

Eliot extended his arms in desperation and barely latched to Shelley’s gear. His shoulder was a symphony of pain and it got worse when he extended the flapping parachute to break their fail. 

Shelley hugged Eliot hard and finally, Eliot’s ghost caught up with his body.

They were falling down way faster than they should. Eliot struggled to turn his back to the incoming hit.

The water was warm. Eliot didn’t expect that in the middle of the winter, in a jungle swamp in Central America. He flailed madly, looking for Shelley. 

“Eliot!” Hardison came running as soon as he heard the splashing. “Are you OK?”

Eliot sat on the bathtub and blinked at the glaring light. He was in Portland, naked as the day his mother threw him into this world; his fingers felt pruney. Hardison was wearing a facemask and gloves. There was only one logical explanation.

“I feel asleep…” Eliot reached for the drain. 

“It’s OK, bro,” Hardison commented with a chuckle and extended his hand to pass him a fluffy towel, but Eliot couldn’t miss the tension around his eyes. Hardison was scared for him. “But the bed would be a better place to catch some z’s.”

“You’re right,” Eliot agreed and took the towel. “A bit of privacy?”

Hardison turned his back laughing and Eliot did the best to get up without slipping. Tiredness was a heavy cloak on his shoulders and he wished he could rub-dry himself way quicker. Fresh clothes made him feel human again. Hardison was right there to help his unsteady gait and steer him toward the bed; Eliot felt like he could sleep for a week.

“Thank you,” Eliot said, feeling the clean bed sheet under his hand.

“Don’t mention it, bro,” Hardison said with a smile. “I’m _so glad_ you are feeling better.”

“What makes you think I’m feeling better?” 

Hardison positively beamed him a big grin. Eliot felt the worry about Hardison’s worry melting away at that sight.

“You are growling, man, _growl-ing_ ,” Hardison replied, walking backward and closing the door on his way out. “My word! I missed that sound!”

“I got you a glass of milk,” Parker’s voice came from above and gave Eliot a bit of a start.

As soon as his heart returned to its usual rate, Eliot noticed that the worst part of being sick was disorientation. It must be Tuesday, Parker came to watch a movie or just the screen with him each Tuesday. She would hang from the ceiling like a friendly spider with a face mask and laugh way too loudly at the funny parts. Last time, Parker complained Eliot hadn’t touched his snacks in a month, but Eliot was too exhausted to even follow the plot on the screen and all the drugs had upset his gut. Eliot said, to unruffle her feathers, that he liked his cookies with milk. There was milk now, in a tall, cold glass, because Parker was always careful of those details.

“Thank you, Parker,” Eliot mumbled, sitting in the bed. “Can we watch the news today?”

“No. It would upset you,” Parker said and ran his finger through Eliot’s wet mane as he selected one of the packages from that yellow box. “We are going to watch a movie.”

“Have you selected a movie already?” Eliot scooted to the center of the bed, held the glass milk between his bare feet, and looked around for the remote control.

“ _Mean Girls_!” Parker shouted cheerfully, waving the remote in front of his face.

“Again?!” 

“We have never got to the end!” Parker complained, pushing Eliot’s head down. Eliot almost could tell Parker was pouting. “You always fall asleep before Regina copies the Burn Book and I don’t get the end!”

“Haven’t you watched it with Hardison?” Eliot retorted, knowing that it was better if the spray of his probably still contagious breath was pointed to her opposite direction.

“Yeah, but you explain things better,” Parker said and kept playing with his hair. 

Eliot let his head hang, smiled, and dunk a cookie into the cold milk. The first bite brought him back to movie night in the barracks, that taste was in his mouth when he watched _E.T._ for the first time and finally knew why he was singled out in elementary school. The ghost of Shelley’s laughter rang on Eliot’s ears and he sat there, the cookie still inside his mouth, looking at the flickering screen, feeling the depths of his sadness and nostalgia: he had lost his battle buddy...

Where are you, Shelley?

* * *

Drill Sergeant Masters, Eliot noticed immediately, wanted to be standing under the summer sun as much as him. His neck, that had roughly the same circumference of that of an ox, sported a splash of scars at the back. In time Eliot would make his calculations and recon that was the outcome of a close encounter with an IED, for the time being, Eliot was far more interested in flying under the radar. It was never a good idea to anger a man with such a neck.

“Welcome to Fort Sill, boys!” Drill Sergeant Masters spat at them, walking in front of the row with both of his hands behind his back. “You better get used to the idea that mommy is not here to take care of your asses anymore. I’m not here to blow your noses and pick up after you. Your balls, if they hadn’t done it before, dropped as soon as you crossed that door!” 

Drill Sergeant Masters screamed and pointed at the gate of Fort Sill. Eliot swept the rows of the freshly sheared young men staring at the gate with hanging mouths. From the moment God took his mom, Eliot Spencer was self-sufficient —his balls dropped hard that day—and an untimely burst of laughter was his only worry in the world.

“But don’t worry, the Army had you the second-best thing.” Eliot noticed the pause Drill Sergeant Masters made. Too long, it was made for effect. “All sections, by two!”

Eliot was used to the maneuvers. His uncle Randy used them to keep the members of his team in order, but those sixty-plus kids that never had left home struggled to find their place under the urging screams of their Drill Sergeant. Eliot pulled a mousy, four-eyed young man by his side.

“Square up!” Eliot grumbled and looked at the front.

“Thanks,” was the scared reply. 

Eliot noticed Drill Sergeant Masters moving people around and, for the briefest moment, Eliot thought the Sergeant would pass by him without notice until he was yanked from his place. Sargent’s hand gripped Eliot’s nape hard and the heat of that capable hand almost seared his skin. Eliot did his best to walk with dignity to the spot three spaces behind where that hand finally let him go. 

“The place of the Prom King is next to the Prom Queen!” Drill Sergeant Masters barked by way of explanation before moving to rearrange the bunch of scared kids to his satisfaction.

“Prom Queen?” Eliot asked before he could stop himself.

“Hello, Eliot,” Shelley said without moving his head from the front. The smile on his face told the world he was enjoying the chaos.

“God hates me…” Eliot grumbled in complete disbelief.

Shelley let out a brief bark of laughter and took a deep breath. Eliot squared up and set his mind to endure whatever moronic team-building exercise Drill Sergeant Masters had in mind. People settled around them and the Sergeant inspected the columns, occasionally swatting a behind or a shoulder to correct posture. This time, he passed by without comment.

“Look at your side. That man right there is your brother, your teammate, your psychologist, your first respondent and your mommy now,” Drill Sergeant Masters said with a sarcasm-loaded voice before turning around and mentioning in the most serious tone. “Your life is in his hands, his life is in yours. That man is from now on your own battle buddy. If everything goes right, you’ll only need one battle buddy from Fort Sill to Arlington!”

Eliot felt the power of Drill Sergeant Masters’ voice running through his spine: those were not empty words. A timid attempt of laughter ran through that long line, but the hard stare of the Sergeant cut it short. Eliot didn’t feel like laughing; he realized that if he got killed on his first tour, then everything went right too.

“From now on, you are just one half of an idiot. Whatever one half of you go, the other goes too. I don’t even want to see you going to the can without your battle buddy. I want you to be joined by the hip from this moment on!”

Now the whole line was silent and a bit wary. Eliot noticed how a couple of young men in front of him joined hands for a brief second, then he noticed Shelley’s hand was raised over his head.

“What do you want, Prom Queen?”

“Sir, I have a question, sir!” Shelley replied completely unfazed by the name the Sergeant gave him; Eliot almost admired the size of Shelley’s big brass balls.

“Ask your question!” 

“Do you want us to join side to side or nut to butt, sir?”

Eliot noticed a drop of sweat running down his neck as the Drill Sergeant’s jaw slacked. The vein on the Drill Sergeant’s neck was pulsing in a way that triggered all of Eliot’s survival instincts, but that big bonehead by his side wouldn’t follow him in his breakout and Eliot couldn’t go anywhere without his battle buddy as Drill Sergeant Masters just told them. So Eliot stood his place, completely sure he was going to hate the results of this little chat.

“Are you pulling my leg, son?”

“No, sir, no!” Shelley replied and his face was the dictionary illustration of candor. “I’m just one half of an idiot and I need clarification, sir!”

Eliot sighed deeply. At that moment, he didn’t know the meaning of ‘getting smoked’, but by the way Drill Sergeant Masters’ colors rose, he knew his new battle buddy just got him in hot water and, in his opinion, Shelley was the whole idiot...

* * *

Eliot stretched out in the bed, laying down for so long was really tiresome. Out of habit, he checked his phone as he scratched the back of his head and moved to the door to retrieve his cold lunch from the tray where Hardison placed it nowadays. It was getting warmer and warmer and Eliot was never in the mood for a hot dish, but it was good to be inside his jeans again.. 

No messages, no lost calls. Eliot was beginning to lose hope of ever hearing of his battle buddy again. 

Tray in hand, he sat on the bed and munched the sandwich and drank his cold milk. Parker had left a note: ‘you are not dead yet!’ and it lifted Eliot’s spirits against his will. 

Lunch consumed, Eliot looked at the walls, wishing he just could rush out and go to the kitchen. He was getting stronger by the day, but his boredom increased in direct proportion to his fitness. Maybe he should ask Theo for a ride, to see how the downing curve looked on the streets…

Hardison’s steps on the metal stair warned Eliot it was time to return his tray. He plucked one sanitizing wipe and passed it all around the border, then he put the tray on the floor and pushed it out for Hardison to take. Since he was already on the floor, he assumed the _mokusho_ position.

“How was the nap?” Hardison asked as soon as he could peek inside the room.

“Good.”

Hardison smiled and crouched. Good three feet between them, Eliot noticed Hardison was wearing gloves but not a mask. That was a good sign. 

“Mind if I take your temperature?”

They had to reset the clock three days ago when Eliot showed a little fever. Parker’s disappointed face was so comical that Eliot didn’t mind the mild headache and general discomfort.

“Not at all,” Eliot said and put his hands on his lap and waited patiently as Hardison pointed the infrared thermometer in his general direction. “I hope it’s OK.”

“Looks good. Under a hundred.”

“Awesome.” For the first time since forever, the word was not tainted by sarcasm. “Hardison.”

“What is it, man?” Hardison asked and stopped. He was about to pick the tray up.

Eliot rummaged his pocket to find a little shiny thing that had been lying there since the last time Eliot saw the street. He placed it gently on the tray.

“You didn’t need to get in,” Eliot mumbled because he lacked the words to tell Hardison how humbled he felt by his sacrifice. “Thank you.”

“I had to, bro,” Hardison said without even sparing a look at the tray. “You needed me.”

“Thank you for having my back anyways.” Eliot shrugged, disavowing his own emotions.

“Anytime, man,” Hardison said, smiling at the gesture. “Try to rest.”

Eliot nodded and resumed his position. Hardison moved away with the tray and Eliot began to focus on his breathing when Hardison’s shocked gasp reached him.

“An original Star Trek badge!”

Eliot didn’t have the faintest idea of what that could be, but if it made Hardison happy, Eliot had no complaint. With his eyes fixed on the rail, Eliot tried to focus on his breathing, getting ready to let go of Shelley when his phone vibrated against his butt. Zen philosophy could be damned, Eliot was on his knees in less than a second, fumbling with the device.

“Prom King,” a voice that managed to be both formal and joking greeted him from the other side of the world as soon as he put the device against his ear.

“Prom Queen,” Eliot greeted back through a smile a mile wide. 

“Two months late but I’m returning your call,” Shelley said and Eliot could hear a discreet, almost fake, cough. “I got the bug.”

“I got it, too,” Eliot mumbled. He barely refrained from adding Regina George’s immortal words to that fake cough. It was a mystery how he managed to keep the shame out of his voice. “Hardison said I keep calling him by your name.”

“They dragged me to a hospital while shouting ‘No hospitals!’,” Shelley commented with a laugh before sighing deeply. Eliot wanted to have a beer in his hand to tap against the floor. Shelley continued with a more sober tone: “And I called your name to the nurses.” 

“I got to stay at home,” Eliot told Shelley and rested back and supported his weight on his free hand. “It made me think of that malaria shitshow. I never said thank you for picking me up at that time in Malaysia.” 

“You don’t need to,” Shelley replied and Eliot almost saw the smile in his friend's face. “I’ve your six, from Fort Sill to Arlington.” 

“From Fort Sill to Arlington,” Eliot repeated because the only thing he wouldn’t do for Shelley was to hurt Parker or Hardison. “Are you still in the hospital?” 

“I’m in a hotel room in Dubai. I can see the curvature of the earth from here. You should see what kind of embarrassment these kids made me endure...”

Eliot didn’t miss the perks of being in the Unit, he had it good with his new siblings, but he missed Shelley’s rambling rant about the life he had left behind.

“If you are going to stay there for a while, I might as well send you a care package.”

“Nah, you know me: I need little,” Shelley refused with a small voice before voicing his heart desire: “You know what I need? I need a soundboard because my mom had been calling too and I don’t know how to tell her she’s lucky her baby didn’t give up the ghost in a small Iraqi rural hospital.” A pause, too long, made for effect. “Do you have time?”

“Aw, _shucks_! I need to take my car to be detailed, and buy some new shoes and get a haircut–”

“Sorry I asked!”

“I’m recovering too, moron!” Eliot laughed at Shelley's gullibility. Eliot would have made the time for Shelley even if he had things to do. “Of course I have your six! Shoot!”

As Shelley ranted into his ear, letting the stress go, Eliot knew he had his battle buddy’s six still. Everything was falling into place, his life was going the way it should.

Eliot Spencer began to believe again that, with brothers like his, he was a lucky man.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to bemusedlybespectacled at Discord who helped me to catch some glaring spelling mistakes.


End file.
